


Maybe There's Hope for Us Yet

by karmicpunishment



Series: Tomathy Isn't It Fics [3]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (He Gets One), Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, IRL Fic, Platonic Cuddling, Recovery, References to Depression, References to Illness, Self-Esteem Issues, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), illness (mentioned), they're brothers your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29675775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmicpunishment/pseuds/karmicpunishment
Summary: Tommy isn't alone anymore. He doesn't quite know what to do with that.OrTommyinnit recovers from the flu and starts to recover in other ways too.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Tomathy Isn't It Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126091
Comments: 33
Kudos: 306





	Maybe There's Hope for Us Yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImThatAcroBat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImThatAcroBat/gifts).



> "But I know my friends do love me, and so, maybe there's hope for us yet."  
> -Adaine Abernant, Fantasy High Sophmore Year

For the first time in ages, Tommy’s house didn’t feel cold. The rooms don’t feel empty, the halls don’t feel lifeless. Despite the remnants of the flu still lingering (his head still foggy and his nose still stuffy and his bones still aching) he felt better than he had in a long, long time. The house was warm. The rooms are full of scattered items, a beanie on the couch, a guitar against the wall. The halls were filled with music, whether played from tinny iPhone speakers or from Wilbur himself. He always preferred the later, when Wilbur would sing, voice low and smooth and comforting and so very warm. 

When he’d woken up after his sleep, he’d thought Wilbur’s arrival had been a particularly cruel fever dream, until he heard the sound of soft singing coming from downstairs. The words and melody of  _ La Jolla  _ floated to his ears, faint and distant but suddenly the best thing he’d heard in ages. He’d almost brained himself on his bedside tables in his scramble to get out of bed. (Someone had tucked him in, with obvious care. He tried not to think about how long it’d been since someone had done that). He still felt awful and gross as he stumbled out of bed, sweaty and achy and shivering, but nothing would stop him from getting downstairs. He had to confirm this was real. As his feet thundered down the stairs (his hand gripping the railing tight, he felt far too dizzy to go without it) the singing coming from what he now knew was the kitchen stopped. The loss ached in his chest. He didn’t want it to stop. He fumbled his way into the kitchen, the floor cool against his feet. And there he was. Wilbur Soot, purpling bags under his eyes, a rumpled apron thrown over an equally mussed sweater on, messy curls in full view. Tommy drank in the sight. Wilbur looked out of place in his sterile, nearly unused kitchen but he moved with an ease Tommy didn’t understand. A pot was sitting simmering on the stove, a can of soup on the counter next to it. An overnight bag was sitting on the table, two bottles of cold medicine sat next to it. 

“Tommy, what are you doing out of bed?” A concerned look was perched on Wilbur’s face, and with a spoon on his hands and the apron over his clothes, he looked so much like a mother from T.V (nothing like Tommy’s mother) that Tommy couldn’t help but laugh. Wilbur’s face softened at the sound, a small smile breaking through, though concern was still flooding his eyes. He walked over and placed a blissfully cold hand against Tommy’s forehead. He couldn’t help but lean into the touch, head coming to rest on Wilbur’s shoulder after the hand pulled away.

“Well you still seem warm, but definitely better than before. Still you didn’t need to come downstairs, I would have come up to you kid.”

“Had to make sure you were real...that I wasn’t dreaming.” he mumbled in Wilbur’s soft sweater clad shoulder. He felt Wilbur tense for a moment, before wrapping his arm around him.   
“Well I’m real, and I’m here, so you don’t need to worry anymore okay? I’m not gonna leave you alone.” Tommy opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words, so he just settled for nodding his head from where he was on Wilbur’s shoulder.   
“Come on bud, let's get you back up stairs.” Wilbur nudged Tommy, trying to get him up himself, and only getting a petulant and sleepy groan instead, and the sensation of Tommy attempting to furrow deeper into his sweater. 

A low chuckle from Wilbur reverberated through Tommy's body and he felt warm. Not fever warm, but the kind of warmth he got from a cup of hot chocolate or a video doing well or coming in the top 5 in a MCC game. A squeak ripped from his mouth as suddenly his feet were off the ground. Pulling away from Wilbur’s shoulder, he became aware that Wilbur had scooped him up in his arms. His heart took off racing for a moment until Wilbur laughed again and began to make his way upstairs, his stupidly lanky legs making quick head way and his arms unflinchingly steady around Tommy. He placed his head back on Wilburs shoulder and enjoyed the rest of the ride. 

They made it quickly to Tommy's bedroom, the only scuffle coming from Wilbur’s attempt to open his door with an armful of Tommy. (Tommy was no help, only giggling in return at his struggle. Wilbur didn’t mind) But they got past it, and Tommy found himself once again in his bed, after being laid down gently by Wilbur. Something in his ached at the loss of contact but he couldn’t ask him to stay like that. Shouldn’t be that needy, especially not when Wilbur’s already done so much.

From the foot of his bed, Wilbur let out a small laugh, running his hand across his forehead, wiping away the slight perspiration that gathered from their journey from the kitchen and up the stairs. He said something about the soup and grabbing the medicine and left his room, with a reassuring “be back soon”. Despite the empty room, Tommy didn’t feel alone. And when Wilbur returned with a hot bowl of soup, and a fresh cold cloth, and a new dose of cold medicine in his arms, Tommy felt less lonely than he had in ages. 

\----------

He’d felt safer and happier than he had in years in that moment, despite the sickness still rooted in his body. And the good feelings hadn’t let up in the days since. His parents had been gone a week already, but for the first time in ages, he felt truly good.  _ Something in him hoped they never came home. _

Wilbur had been staying in his house with him for three, going on four, days now. Tommy had told him he didn’t have to stay after his fever broke, stuffing down the desperate want gnawing his gut to say otherwise. Wilbur had looked him in the eye and held his hand and told him he wasn’t leaving. He’d deny he cried for the rest of his days, but hey, he wasn’t the only one. They’d fallen asleep on his couch that night, dried tears on both their faces and on the shoulder of Wilbur's sweater. He woke up with a crick in his neck and the sun peering in from the windows in his eyes. It was the best sleep he’d ever had, and from the smile on Wilbur’s sleeping face (and the one that persisted that morning), he didn’t find it so bad either. 

The next day was spent watching movies and eating pancakes Wilbur made from a box mix, the rest of the kitchen fairly cleaned out (He couldn’t remember the last time someone had gone food shopping for the house), with shitty takeout for dinner. Nothing had tasted better to him in ages. Sitting on the couch, laughing at garbage comedy movies playing on Wilbur’s laptop, he suddenly felt such a warmth he almost thought he had slipped back into his fever. But no, his temperature was fine. His joy, a feeling that had grown unfamiliar, was just a little crackling fire in his stomach, ready to be stoked and fed and fed it surely was. 

\---------

They hadn’t told Tommy's parents about the new arrangement. It didn’t matter. They would be gone for two more weeks, and had already planned an early anniversary trip to leave two days after that. (They’d talked about Tommy staying in Wilbur’s flat that time around. To Tommy that sounded more like a home than the one he was in.) All they had to do was clean up the obvious remnants of a 6’4 adult living in the house for those two days. It wouldn’t be hard. They never paid anything much attention as long as it wasn’t loud enough to breach their earbuds or stuffy office walls. Either way, they had two more weeks to figure all that out. For now all they had to focus on was living. 

Tommy’s College was all online, and he’d began seeding mentions of a new streaming space for his streams after his small sick leave (Wilbur was doing the same on his own streams, as infrequent as they were) so moving into Wilbur’s flat or vice versa wouldn’t be too hard to explain away. 

The biggest hurdle was their friends. The vast majority were unaware of Tommy’s parents' flighty tendencies and those who knew didn’t know the true scale, thinking weekends gone versus multiple weeks. And none of them knew about Wilbur going to see Tommy (and staying) other than his flatmates (who’d all been sworn to secrecy with a virtual pinkie promise), and frankly Tommy wasn’t too eager for the news to be spread. 

It was new and fragile and, he feared, easily broken. Insecurity still curled in his gut often. Whispers in his mind that Wilbur would leave, that he was selfish for making him stay, that Wilbur was lying when he said he wanted to stay. These demons reared their heads often these past days, often in the late night, when the dark had crept its way into the house and Wilbur’s bright presence was dulled by sleep. The first time, he curled up in his bed, trying to quiet his own sobs as the fears crescendoed. He hadn’t been quiet enough however. And Wilbur pushed open the door, caution and curiosity in every movement, before letting out a soft and sad, “Tommy.” He’d crept over to the bed and put his hand on Tommy’s back, rubbing small circles and whispering words to him. Telling him it was okay. That he wanted to be there. That Tommy didn’t deserve to be alone and he wasn’t selfish for wanting otherwise. And as Tommy’s cries tapered off and slept, crept back in, Tommy clutched his hand and asked him to stay. And he did. 

The arrangement was still tentative, still strange, still new. But Tommy believed it would last. Because Wilbur stayed. No one else had done that before. 

\------------

They knew they had to tell their friends the truth and sooner rather than later at that. They’d find out eventually anyway, be it a slip up during a stream or a photo in a room they’d recognized or trying to film a collab in the same house. And even more, they deserved to know. People like Phil and Tubbo and Techno. People who cared, who tried to reach out but hadn’t quite reached. They deserved to know the truth. And more than that, Tommy wanted to tell them. Wanted to be able to message their group chat about the stupid things Wilbur did that day. Wanted to be able to call Tubbo without worrying about him hearing Wilbur’s strumming guitar in the background. Wanted to talk about his parents, about how they never stayed, about how they never told him they loved him, how they never said they were proud. Wanted to tell them how much they mean to him, how much it means to him that they stay and love him and were so unabashedly proud, for reasons Tommy couldn’t see. He didn’t think there was much to be proud of about him, but he was trying to change that. Trying to see what Wilbur sees, what Tubbo sees, what the people who love him say they see. The people who chose him. Who saw him through a screen and heard his voice through a call and wanted to know him. Who heard his worst jokes and loudest screams and most obnoxious laughter and loved him anyway. 

If they saw something in him, something good and worth it, it must be true. He wanted it to be true. 

\-----------

They’d made a plan, him and Wilbur. Assemble a group in a call that night and tell them. Not a very complicated plan, he’d admit. Stressful nonetheless. 

It wasn’t even a large group. Just a select few, Phil, Techno, Tubbo, and Niki. An almost hilarious parody of the call those several weeks ago where this all began. Where he’d sat, staring at the bright screen showing the call he should be joining, but couldn’t make himself. Where Wilbur had reached out, had poked all the spots to get Tommy to give. Where he’d spilled his guts (and his tears) to Wilbur in a call. Where the first time he’d told someone about the loneliness and the emptiness and the cold house around, and someone had responded back. Soft and careful and loving. 

Tommy hoped he’d get a similar response tonight. He wasn’t quite sure what he'd do if he didn’t. If he lost these people. Phil and Techno, closer to family than anyone who shared his blood. Tubbo his best friend, the first best friend he’d had, the only friend who reached back quite as much as Tommy reached out. And Niki, who was sweet and kind, but would snark and snipe right back at him with a disarmingly sweet smile, who was what he’d imagine a sister would be like. He didn’t know if he could stand to lose them. 

At least he would always have Wilbur. That's what he told him, and slowly but surely, he was starting to believe it. And with him by his side, he knew he’d be okay. He’d been drowning alone, head going under for longer and longer each time, and Wilbur had pulled him to shore. And Tommy vowed to do the same in return. He could hear it in Wilbur’s voice when he comforted him, told him he was worth it and loveable and real. Familiarity. Someone had told him those things, repeated them over and over until he believed them. Sometime, maybe it was a long time ago, maybe it was barely time at all, Wilbur had felt like him. He didn’t want Wilbur to ever feel that way. His stomach churned and his chest burned with righteous fury at the thought. (If this was how Wilbur felt when he saw Tommy feel like this, well he might be starting to understand his determination to help a little bit more). 

He remembered the way Wilbur pushed off other people's concerns, how he pushed his own health and happiness aside. Remembered how he got sick a few months ago, and still pushed to make it to a call, feverish and ill. Remembered the fear that gripped his own soul when he heard Wilbur speak, his voice rough and painful to even hear, nevermind make, and the words worse. How he didn’t deserve help, how he was fine all alone, how he shouldn’t bother people to help him. He’d tried his best at the time but he felt so utterly helpless. He was just a kid, loathe as he was to admit it, and felt so out of his depth. He couldn’t drive, couldn’t go and help him. The sheer relief he felt when Philza (and Kristen) stepped in was nearly overwhelming. He wondered if Techno and Charlie felt the same kind of helplessness, sitting in a call an ocean away from a friend in need. He didn’t ask. Maybe he should have. 

\---------------

The call would start soon. He and Wilbur sat in front of the computer headphones already one. The air was thick with nerves, though Tommy could tell Wilbur was trying to hide it. It was clear, however, from the way his leg bounced and his hand that kept coming up to thread through his curls. Tommy couldn’t quite blame him, his own leg bouncing and his hands twisting together. The minutes where ticking down. His hands kept twisting. The clock on the wall seemed to slow down by the second. His rung his hands over and over, until another hand came to rest on top of them. He looked up, meeting Wilbur’s eyes. Nervous but bright, anxious but oh-so-warm. He threaded their hands together with a nod and slight smile, a silent affirmation. Everything would be okay. 

And Tommy believed him, even as he clicked into the call. 

Everything would be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all:  
> Happy Birthday Mai, my darling <3  
> I hope you enjoy this, and I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Thank you for being in my life and also for just being you :-)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this fic, the third part in this series. If you'd like more of these, please let me know (and maybe share some ideas?) 
> 
> if you liked it, please give kudos and comments, they really make my day an d keep me motivated. 
> 
> (also this in no way indicative of what i think tommy's homelife is like, or what his parents are like. this is a story, and i am writing about their characters in a real life setting, not the people. if any cc express discomfort with this type of work, it will be taken down. 
> 
> if you want to yell at me (or with me), come join the writer's block discord!:  
> https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm


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